Tender Betrayal

by Rosanne Bittner

  She left the room and headed downstairs to direct the kitchen help in preparing supper. Richard would be back soon and would be hungry. Tomorrow they were to leave for New Orleans. March Fredericks would take over, as the planting was finished, and there would not be a great deal of work for the slaves until harvest time. She had learned to tolerate March, as he very seldom had reason to come to the house. The few times that he had, he had given her nasty looks that told her what he would like to do to her if he could get away with it. She had no doubt the man hated her for getting him fired from Brennan Manor and having his wages reduced when he was assigned to Cypress Hollow. He had never forgotten the incident over old George.

  She decided to walk around to the back of the house by way of the veranda. It was a beautiful spring day, and she wanted to enjoy it. The temperature had been so pleasant, and the azaleas and dogwood were in full and splendid bloom. When she was able to put aside the horrors of her first days spent here, she realized that Cypress Hollow was as beautiful as Brennan Manor. The house was even bigger, as was the acreage. Richard had half again as many slaves as her father, and since his own father’s death he had done an excellent job of running both plantations. That was one thing she had to give him credit for, although she could never accept some of his methods. He had stopped abusing the young Negro girls, as far as she was aware, but she had no idea what went on when he was in the Negro camps or out overseeing the field hands. She knew the kind of man March Fredericks was, knew Richard could be frighteningly stern. She stayed away from the fields and camps, deciding she was perhaps better off not knowing everything that went on there.

  Somewhere nearby she heard a pigeon coo, and she thought what a peaceful day it had been. Everything seemed so quiet and serene. She had stepped off the veranda to smell a nearby rosebush when the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a carriage. She could hear the hoofbeats of the horse pulling it pounding against the ground at a frantic pace, accompanied by the clattering sound of carriage wheels rolling at breakneck speed. She looked up to see Richard’s carriage come flying up the road from the Negro camps a half mile away.

  Her heart tightened in alarm when she realized March Fredericks was driving the carriage, whipping the horse into a lather. As he came closer, she saw that his face was twisted with fury and even a little fear. Then she saw Richard’s body lying on the floor of the carriage by March’s feet. She ran to meet him as March brought the vehicle to a dusty halt in front of the house. “What happened?” she exclaimed.

  “That goddamn nigger, Henry Gathers!” March swore, jumping down from the carriage and quickly tying the horse. “The one who gave your father so much trouble a couple of years ago! He escaped from the man we sold him to, and he’s been hidin’ out here in the Negro camps! Richard discovered him, and the nigger stabbed him with a pitchfork!”

  “My God!” Audra leaned over Richard and saw that the front of his vest and suit were covered with blood.

  March called for a Negro man standing nearby to help him carry Richard into the house. When the man hesitated, March pulled his revolver. “Get over here and help me or I’ll shoot you right between the eyes, you stinkin’ nigger!” he ordered. The man hurried over and the two men carried Richard into the house. Audra directed them to lay him on a bed in a downstairs guest room rather than carry him all the way upstairs. Richard groaned as she and March quickly ripped away his jacket, vest, and shirt. Blood oozed from four punctures just below his ribs, and Audra felt suddenly sick. In spite of how she felt about the man, this was a hideous wound no one should have to suffer. She looked at March. “I don’t know what to do for him!”

  March looked pale himself. “There ain’t much you can do except keep cold rags against the wounds. I’ll organize some men to help you get him to the doctor in Baton Rouge.” His pale blue eyes were sullen and bloodshot. “You’ll need several men along to guard you. The Negroes are in an ugly mood, and some have run off and could be in the woods along the roadway. You get your husband some help, Mrs. Potter, and give me your permission while you’re gone to handle this my way! We can’t let the niggers get away with this, or that will be the end of Cypress Hollow, maybe Brennan Manor, too.”

  Audra put a hand to her forehead, trying to think. The realization of what March Fredericks was capable of doing sickened her, but when she looked down at Richard again and saw his suffering, she was frightened. Was it true that the Negroes would go on a rampage, would rape and murder and pillage if they got a taste of freedom? Such a hideous attempt at murdering Richard could not go unpunished. For her husband’s sake alone she had to give March permission to right this wrong.

  March sensed her hesitation. “They’re gettin’ cockier, Mrs. Potter. That Henry Gathers has them all worked up. I’ve got to hunt the man down and hang him in front of the rest of them. If I don’t, they’ll overrun us for sure, and you’ll lose everything.”

  Audra felt sick, but at a deep groan uttered by Richard, she looked at March with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want the innocent ones to suffer, especially not any of the women or children.”

  “Don’t worry. I know exactly who to go after, and there is no time to lose. The guilty ones are most likely already scatterin’ themselves. I’ll need all the men I can get, as well as the hounds.”

  She knelt beside Richard, while a few of the house Negroes stood in the background, shivering with fear at what might happen to all of them because of this. Sonda started to cry, and old Henrietta, whom Audra had brought with her to Cypress Hollow, clasped her hands in nervous agony.

  “Lawdy, Lawdy,” the woman quietly exclaimed.

  “Hush, Henrietta,” Audra ordered her. “Go get a pan of cold water and some compresses. Quickly!” She looked back at March as the woman lumbered away. “Do what you have to do, but I meant what I said. I want no innocent Negroes to suffer for this!”

  A look of satisfaction came into March’s eyes. “You have my word,” he told her. He moved past her, and she could smell his perspiration. “I’ll have the men get a wagon ready for Mr. Potter right away.”

  The man left, and Audra touched Richard’s damp hair, smoothing it back from his face. “You’ll be all right, Richard.”

  He opened his eyes, and she saw the terror in them, but he said nothing.

  For nearly two weeks Richard had clung to life. He lay in a hospital in Baton Rouge, and when the doctor told Audra he was full of infection and there was no hope, Audra had brought him home to Cypress Hollow. Whatever her feelings for him, she knew that the man had loved this place, and he had begged her to take him home to die.

  She stood staring now at his fresh grave, through the dark veil that hid her face. She wished she knew how to feel about his death. She had forgiven him for mistreating her, because in one of his moments of consciousness he had asked her to. Impending death had had a humbling effect on the man, and there were times when he’d clung so tightly to her hand that she thought he might break it.

  Tell me you’re with child, he asked her in one of his more lucid moments. Tell me I have left an heir to Cypress Hollow. To ease his agony, Audra had told him yes, she was pregnant, but it had been a lie. There would be no heir to Cypress Hollow, and after loving and losing Lee, then going through so much hell with this man, she had no desire to think about loving anyone else. Some day everything would belong to Joey. He was all that was left. Maybe he would find a woman to love him. Maybe Joey was the one who would have the happy marriage she had so longed for. Joey would not marry someone just because she was the perfect wife for a wealthy plantation owner. Joey was the kind of young man who would marry only for love.

  She wept, as much for what she and Richard could have had as for the hell the man had put her through, and the hell he had himself suffered in the end. It didn’t seem right that any man should have to die such a slow, agonizing death. Richard Potter had been a cold, calculating man, a tyrant, but, then, he had been brought up by a man just like himself, taught that the only thing i
mportant was holding his land. She wondered, if he had lived, would she have learned to understand him? Could she have touched whatever heart he kept buried deep in that tall, forbidding frame, behind those dark eyes that made her shiver? Why did he have to wait until he was dying to show that he could be vulnerable, that he had feelings and dreams, that he needed her? It wasn’t fair of him, for now he had left her with a terrible guilt, wondering if there was something she could have done to touch his soul, to make him truly care about her. Was their miserable marriage all her fault, after all? Maybe if she hadn’t been such an ignorant, frightened child, she would have known how to behave on that first night.

  There were no answers to her questions. She told herself she had no reason to feel any guilt at all. Across from the grave Eleanor stood, weeping openly, also veiled, as though she were the poor, grieving widow. Her cousin had been furious when she had come for another visit several months ago, only to find Audra at Cypress Hollow. Richard had sent the woman back home to Baton Rouge, and Eleanor had immediately gone off to New Orleans. She had returned home just last month with a bewildered-looking new husband the woman ordered around like a pet dog. Albert Mahoney was ten years older than Eleanor, a widowed hotel owner Audra suspected had been roped and led down the aisle before he knew what was happening to him. She figured that Eleanor was out to prove she could get a decent husband, but she’d had to go to New Orleans, where the men did not know her, to find one.

  Albert had hurried back to New Orleans at the news that the Yankees were indeed about to invade the city. He had to see that his hotel was protected. Eleanor had stayed in Baton Rouge, and she and Aunt Janine had come to Richard’s funeral. Because of the impending invasion, and because so many men Richard had known were at war, Audra had held a small, simple funeral at Cypress Hollow. Joseph Brennan was among those who mourned, as were Lena and Toosie. Audra had not seen any of them in months, and part of her wanted to run and hug all of them, to be held and comforted, but pride and a lingering resentment kept her at a distance.

  Behind her stood Henrietta and Sonda, both in tears. They were surrounded by several other Negroes, from both Brennan Manor and Cypress Hollow, but only a handful compared to how many slaves Richard owned. Audra knew that for most of them, there had been no love lost for Richard Potter. There was still a feeling of unrest among slaves and owners alike. Hard times were obviously at hand, for several slaves had run off and could not be found. A prominent white slaveholder had been murdered, and they all feared for their lives. March Fredericks had hunted down and hanged Henry Gathers and several of his cohorts, and Henrietta had told her there had been several cruel whippings. Audra had been too wrapped up in caring for Richard to find out all the details, and she was not even sure she wanted to know.

  Now her biggest concern was survival. Luckily the planting had been completed, but with so many Negroes having run off, who was going to pick the cotton once it was ready at the end of summer? Even if it got picked, how would they get it to any market? The Yankees had choked up every outlet, and now they lurked at the only exit to the Gulf. To Audra they were like a dark cloud, hanging over the plantation, ready to swoop down and destroy everything.

  If not for the Yankees, Richard would probably still be alive, and their help would not have run off and left them to fall into poverty, which would surely happen if they could not sell their cotton. Her father had a good deal of money set aside, but how long would it last with so much land and buildings and equipment to take care of, so many mouths to feed? She was a widow of means now, but she knew that with hard times coming, she would have to be very careful how she used Richard’s money.

  The land could always be sold, but she had promised Richard she would not do that, nor would she want to. What was all the fighting for, if not for the land? And who was going to buy such a huge farm right now, with the South in such turmoil, and not knowing if slavery would continue? How much would it cost to hire enough people to care for so much land and harvest the cotton if all their Negroes ran off?

  Questions and guilt and confusion plagued her mind and heart. She told herself she could not decide everything at once. Today she could think only about the fact that her husband was being buried on a wooded hillside that overlooked his Cypress Hollow home. A priest from Baton Rouge had come to the plantation to conduct the funeral, but Audra barely heard anything the man said.

  Now the priest threw dirt onto the casket, and Audra knelt to scoop some into her gloved hand, then did the same. “I love you, Richard,” she said quietly, deciding that the least she could do was appear to grieve for him, and quell any remaining rumors about their marriage being less than perfect. Would God strike her dead for such a display? She had wanted to love her husband, but he had not allowed it, and after the way he had treated her, it seemed that just forgiving him ought to have been enough. She had done all she could to comfort him, had never left his side. In the end the proud, pompous Richard Potter had been like a frightened child, clinging to her, telling her he was afraid of death. In that last moment of life, her heart had gone out to him, and she had seen a glimmer of what they could have had. She knew he saw it, too, and that was the saddest thing about his dying.

  She longed for someone to cling to, just for a little while. But she felt desperately alone.

  When the funeral ended, she heard her aunt telling the guests to come to the house for refreshments, adding that those who had come from far away could stay the night. Joseph Brennan came to her side, tried to comfort her, but she pulled away. If not for her father, she might never have married Richard in the first place. All her pain and humiliation could have been avoided.

  “Audra, dear—”

  “Leave me alone, Father.”

  Lena joined him in trying to comfort her, but Audra asked them both to leave her. Joseph wiped his eyes and walked off with the others, and Audra stayed beside the grave for several minutes. She did not realize until she turned to leave that someone else was still there. Toosie stepped in front of her, holding her chin proudly, her eyes showing their sorrow. Audra knew that Toosie understood the real reason for her deep grief. Audra started to walk past her when Toosie touched her arm. This time Audra did not pull away.

  “None of this was ever my fault,” Toosie told her. “You can’t hate me like you think you hate your father and my mother.”

  Audra reached under her veil to wipe at her eyes. “I don’t hate anyone, Toosie. I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore.”

  “Things are going to get a lot worse, and we will all need each other,” Toosie told her. “I miss you, Audra.”

  Audra wanted to embrace her, but part of her still felt that such things just were not done with Negroes, and she held back. “I’m sorry. I just can’t come home yet.”

  “You won’t have to. Your father feels it’s too dangerous for you, both here and at Brennan Manor, right now. There is a lot of resentment and hatred in the Negro camps. You have been so involved with Richard that you probably don’t know everything that happened. I think you should know.”

  Audra frowned, seeing a grief in Toosie’s eyes that went much deeper than Richard’s death. “What don’t I know, Toosie?”

  Toosie blinked back tears. “March Fredericks went on a rampage, raided the Negro camps both here and at home. I don’t doubt that some of my people that he beat and hanged deserved it, but not all of them. Your father was scared the Negroes would rise up and murder the whole household, including me and my mother. They all know your father sleeps with my mother and that I am his daughter.” She took a deep breath, holding Audra’s gaze. “Your father gave March Fredericks full rein, and Fredericks used it as an excuse to get back at poor old George for that time you stopped him from whipping the man. He hanged old George right along with some of the others.”

  Audra gasped in sudden grief and anger. “George! He would never hurt a soul! He was a good man!”

  “We all know that. By the time your father found out, it was too late
. He was furious. He fired March. The man threatened your father…and he said he’d get you, too. That was almost two weeks ago, and nobody has seen him since. Your father wants you and me to go to Baton Rouge. Even with the Yankees coming, he thinks we’d be safer there, staying at your aunt and uncle’s house, than on the plantation. Between the angry Negroes still left there, and March Fredericks out there somewhere thinking about revenge, it’s too dangerous.”

  “But what about my father!”

  Toosie smiled to herself. Yes, the love was still there. Audra would embrace her father again…someday. “You know Joseph Brennan. He will never leave Brennan Manor, and my mother will never leave him. They will both stay there.” She turned to watch Joseph talking with his sister-in-law, Janine. “Don’t worry. He has plenty of good men guarding the grounds.” She looked back at Audra. “As long as he can keep paying them well, they’ll stay.”

  Audra wondered how long that could be, if there was no cotton harvest this year. And how many of those men would run off if the Yankees made it all the way to Baton Rouge?

  “You’re thinking you should stay with your father, but it’s best you do as he says and go to Baton Rouge, Audra,” Toosie advised. “I know it’s not my place to be telling you anything, but I care about you. If Union soldiers come swarming into Louisiana, people on the remote plantations will be in a lot more danger than in the cities. There have already been stories of farms being burned and southern ladies being raped by Yankee rabble. Your father will tell you the same. I just…I wanted you to know about George, and I wanted you to know I don’t hate you for the way you feel about me. But we are going to have to set aside the hurt and be strong and brave. Your father heard just today that the Yankees have broken through the two forts at the mouth of the Mississippi and are right now taking New Orleans. That means they’ll be coming this way.”